


Bound

by Lysces



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a Really Interesting Theory I Read, Canonical Angsty OotP Harry, Canonical Character Death, Family Drama, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Major Character Undeath, Superficially Canon Compliant Through the Battle of the Department of Mysteries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-02-09 02:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysces/pseuds/Lysces
Summary: A lot can happen in two days.In the last two days of his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry loses a father figure, loses his faith in his hero, plots a murder, witnesses something he was never meant to see, puts his faith in a new hero, and gains the father figure he'd needed all his life.This is the story of those two days, and what comes after.





	1. A Matter of Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Back before the last book came out, I was fond of reading lots of speculation on the Harry Potter universe. The main line in this story was thought up by Adam Troy-Castro in The Unauthorized Harry Potter, and if the idea was compelling enough to stick with me for a decade, it deserves to be written up. I don't claim the central idea as my own, although some of its decorations are mine.

Harry walked out of the office numb.  He let his feet carry him down the stairs spiraling to nowhere, past the gargoyles, into the corridor beyond without really knowing where they intended to take him.  When the air began to get cooler, the walls older, the light more distant, he knew where he was going.

He pulled the Invisibility Cloak over himself with a calm efficiency that should seem out of place on a fifteen-year-old on his way from destroying the headmaster’s office in uncontrolled fury and grief, and even more out of place on a fifteen-year-old on his way to commit his first murder.

There was no body.  At the end of the day, it wasn’t a terribly important detail, but it was the detail his exhausted mind fixated on now.  Sirius would have no grave.  He might not even have a funeral; he had died a public menace, after all.

A slightly hysterical laugh escaped him and echoed in the empty corridor.  But there would be a body.  Because Harry didn’t believe Dumbledore.

He didn’t believe Dumbledore when he said that Snape had been on their side during the events of the afternoon— _did that really all take place today?_ a very tired part of Harry’s brain wondered.  He had looked into the man’s soulless eyes in Umbridge’s office, and he had remembered every single ounce of hatred he knew he harbored against Sirius, and he could not add those two to equal anything but the slimy bastard dragging his feet to inform anyone out of spite.  He didn’t believe Dumbledore when he said that Snape wasn’t sabotaging his mind with his Occlumency ‘lessons,’ that he wasn’t intentionally opening up his mind to give Voldemort access.

He didn’t believe Dumbledore when he said that Snape wasn’t a Death Eater.  And now Sirius was dead.

And now Harry was going to kill him.

He approached Snape’s office, invisible and silent.  Wand in his right hand—why was his hand shaking?  He tried the door with his left.  Locked.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” Harry whispered.  Still locked.  He scanned the empty corridor, listening for approaching footsteps that were nowhere to be heard.  “ _Bombarda maxima!_ ”

The door exploded inward, and Harry leapt invisibly into the potions master’s office, wand at the ready.

The small office was empty.  A stack of essays sat on a cluttered desk.  “ _Homenum revelio_.”  The small office was truly empty.

Harry slowly repaired the door.  His wand arm was noticeably shaking, and he almost regretted not searching for a less destructive spell.  Destroying the door had felt good, though.

His hand was slippery with sweat as he locked the repaired door.  He then sat himself invisibly in an empty corner to wait.

The bloody Death Eater would return eventually.

Harry didn’t have to wait as long as he’d expected, for no less than twenty minutes later, he heard the lock click open.  Then he heard something strange enough to give him pause.

Was…Snape…crying?

The man in question shut the door behind him with nearly enough force to shatter it again, and Harry glimpsed the unexpected devastation on the man’s face before he was turning to lean his forehead against the wall, wand clenched in a shaking fist.

“ _Imperturbus_ ,” Snape croaked.  “ _Fianto duri.  Muffliato_.”  A buzzing suddenly filled Harry’s ears, and he wondered how tired he really was.  What time was it?

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when Snape’s desk went flying into the opposite wall, strewing papers everywhere and cracking in two.  With a violent slash of his wand, Snape sent a clock to shatter uncomfortably close to where Harry was hiding.  He quickly moved to crouch behind a fragment of desk, lest he be brained by the doomed contents of the potions master’s office as the unhinged man sent them flying.

Harry was shocked to see a wand sail across the room and send a wave of red sparks out when it bounced off the stone wall.  Harry peeked over the desk to see his victim collapsed in a heap on the floor, sobbing.  And mouthing something, although Harry could not hear what it was for the buzzing in his ears.

Harry didn’t understand.  A part of him insisted that this didn’t matter, that he ought to kill him now that he had a golden opportunity, his victim wandless and unsuspecting.  But a bigger part of him insisted that he was not the sort of person who killed someone when they were crying on the floor, even if it was Snape.

Harry watched, bewildered and exhausted, as the potions master cried himself out.  He slowly calmed down, but something about his face didn’t look right.  He rose shakily, seemingly uncaring of his destroyed office, and looked about for his wand.  When at last he found it, he stumbled over debris to get to a little cupboard behind where his desk used to stand that had somehow escaped unscathed.  He waved his wand over it a few times and it popped open.  He took a vial from inside and drank it.  Then he hurled the vial at the wall.

He swept over to the door and waved his wand.  The debris rose through the air and reassembled itself, falling back into place as though the whole episode had never happened.  And by the time Harry looked back over to Snape, the man’s face appeared as if it was just an ordinary evening, characteristic disdain dropped back over the raw despair like a mask.  The buzzing ceased suddenly, and Snape left.

In the sudden silence, Harry tried to process what he had just witnessed, but his brain refused to operate on any setting above ‘sluggish,’ so he left the way he had come and returned to Gryffindor tower.

Not many people were in the halls or the common room, so he supposed it had to be night time.  He kept the Cloak on, totally unable to handle interaction with anyone else at the moment.  His dorm was missing Ron and Neville, who were both in the Hospital Wing.  He’d go and check on them first thing in the morning.

Harry didn’t remember falling asleep.

When he woke, his dorm was completely empty.  Only wanting to talk to a few specific people, he threw on his Cloak to go down to the common room.

The scene in the common room stopped him cold.

Students were packed tightly together in clumps, and several were crying.  The fear in the air was tangible enough to set him on edge.  Copies of the _Daily Prophet_ were everywhere.

Harry glanced at the headline.

**HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS**

Right.  That was news for the rest of the Wizarding World, a year behind on reality.  He continued to the Hospital Wing.

He first noticed the glowing golden dome that hovered over the unconscious form of Hermione.  He had no idea what spell Dolohov had hit her with, and the sight of her still body twisted his stomach in worry.

“Harry,” Ginny said quietly, and Harry turned to see her propped up on some pillows with a tray of mostly eaten breakfast on her lap.

“Ginny, how are you?” he asked, moving to sit on the end of the bed.

“It was just a broken ankle,” she said, setting her tray on the table beside her bed.  “Madam Pomfrey put it right in a second, but decided to keep me overnight because I looked like I was in shock.  I probably was.”

“And the others?”  He glanced around at their sleeping companions.

“Luna and Neville have got no permanent damage, at least not physically.  Madam Pomfrey figures Ron’ll probably be fine too, although it’ll take a while for the welts to fade.  She’s worried about Hermione though.  There were Healers from St. Mungo’s here last night.”  Harry swallowed hard.

“Damn.  It’s Hermione who I need to talk to.”

“What about?”

Harry shook his head.  There was no way to answer that in a way that made sense.

“Why Hermione, then?”

“Because—” Harry cut himself off, standing suddenly.  “Actually, you’re right.  There’s someone else I can talk to.  I’ll be back later.”

“Harry?” met no answer and was followed by “dramatic idiot” as he escaped the Hospital Wing.

Harry returned to the common room to find it much as he had left it, and there were gasps as he appeared.  He ignored the questions with a terse “Excuse me!” and walked right into the fireplace, pinching a bit of Floo Powder from the little stone cup hidden in its corner that he had somehow failed to notice for four entire years before Hermione pointed it out.

“Residence of Remus Lupin,” he said, vanishing in a whirlwind of green flames.

The room it spat him out in was unfamiliar, but the man he had just startled into spilling tea on his trousers was entirely familiar.

“Harry,” Lupin said in flustered greeting, setting down his tea and reaching for his wand so he could clean up the mess he had made.  “You ought to be at Hogwarts.  Has Dumbledore really not closed off the Floo Network yet?”

“Apparently not,” said Harry, taking in the shabby but neat apartment that fit Lupin very well.  “I have a question for you.”

Lupin nodded, gesturing for him to sit.  The sofa creaked beneath him, and he waved off the offer of tea before it was even verbalized.

“I’m not entirely certain how to put this…can you think of any reason that Snape would be upset about what happened yesterday?”

Whatever Lupin had been expecting him to ask, that was apparently not it, because he looked confused for a moment.  “Professor Snape was upset?  Upset in what way?  How do you know?”

Harry decided to leave out the detail about his murderous intent.  “I saw him crying—crying hard—and throwing things.  He didn’t know I was there.  What do you make of it?”

Lupin’s brow drew together.  “That’s very unusual, Harry.  Are you sure that you saw what you think you saw?”

Harry knew he would never un-see what he had seen in the potions master’s office yesterday.  “I’m absolutely certain.”

Lupin stared into his cup of tea, and Harry waited.  His fingers tapped against the side of his teacup as his expression grew steadily more troubled. “No, that doesn’t make sense,” Lupin concluded at last.  “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Harry waited.

“They hated each other,” Lupin confirmed.  “Absolutely.  There’s no reason at all for him to be grieving.  He might be upset over the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but he’s known about that for over a year now.”

“That’s what I’d figured too.  Maybe he’s upset because the Death Eaters lost last night?”

Lupin shook his head before Harry had even finished his sentence.  “No, I have every confidence that he’s not a Death Eater.  Professor Dumbledore has personally assured me that he’s on our side.”

“Then how do you explain this?”

Lupin sighed.  “I don’t have an explanation, Harry.  I’m sorry.  Perhaps there is some factor here that we simply don’t know about.”

Harry shook his head, frustrated.  “I don’t want to leave it here.  That was…I’m unsettled.”

“Why don’t you share your concerns with Professor Dumbledore then?” Lupin suggested.

Harry winced at the thought of his row with Dumbledore yesterday.  “Could I ask a favor of you?”

“You can certainly ask.”

“Come with me to talk to Dumbledore?” Harry nearly pleaded.  Lupin’s wariness softened a bit at his benign request.

“Of course.  And in the future, Harry, if you need me, you should send an owl rather than coming here by yourself.  The days grow ever more dangerous.”

Harry nodded seriously.  If he’d been able to talk to Hermione this morning, she probably would have had him do that.  The thought of Hermione brought up a new bought of worrying.

“Let me get my robes,” Lupin said, ducking into another room.  Harry regarded the neglected tea and felt a little bad for intruding on what was no doubt a very difficult morning for his old professor.

“I’m entirely serious, Harry,” Lupin said as he returned fully attired, wincing a bit at his word choice.  “About owling me.  Please don’t hesitate.”  His eyes looked pained.  He knew that Harry had been in regular correspondence with Sirius.  Harry nodded.

Lupin offered a box of grey powder to Harry.  “Shall we?”

Harry let the flames carry him back to Dumbledore’s office.

The old wizard watched him with mild curiosity as he stepped out of his fireplace.  “Good morning, Harry.  I’d hoped you’d only stepped out for a minute.”  Lupin stumbled out of the fireplace behind him, brushing soot from his robes.  “And Remus.  So kind of you to join us.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Lupin greeted him agreeably.

“How are you this morning?” the headmaster inquired.

Lupin’s expression was pained.  “As one would expect.  Harry has a concern he’d like to share with you.”

Harry added, “It’s about Snape.”

“ _Professor_ Snape, Harry.  I believe we addressed several concerns you had about Professor Snape last night.”

“It seems there’s been more recent developments,” Lupin contributed.

Dumbledore steepled his long, thin fingers together and gazed steadily at Harry from behind his half-moon spectacles.  “Please do explain, Harry.”

Harry haltingly relayed to Dumbledore what he had seen, and the headmaster’s eyebrows drew together.

“Where did this happen?”

Harry hesitated.  He could sense an admission of guilt on the horizon, but he didn’t want to lie in case this actually proved to be important.  “In Professor Snape’s office.”

“Yesterday?  And he didn’t know you were there?  What were you doing hiding in his office?”

“I’d rather not say,” Harry said.

“I confess, I find that to be the most concerning part of your testimony,” Dumbledore said, and Harry felt pinned by his electric stare.  “I must insist that you tell me what your purpose was in visiting his office after our discussion last night.”

Harry looked to Lupin for help, but he had his arms crossed over his chest and was watching Harry expectantly.  Harry turned resolutely back to Dumbledore.  There was really no avoiding it.

“I wanted to kill him.  I don’t think I’d have actually done it.  I mean, I had the chance, and I didn’t do it, so….”  He drifted off as Dumbledore stared at him in abject horror.

“You…he’s…Harry, you must never, ever, raise a wand against Professor Snape!  What will it take to convince you that he is truly on our side!”  It was not a question so much as a lamentation.

“More than your promises,” Harry bit out.  “Evidence would be nice.  I’m finding it difficult to trust you at the moment.”

Dumbledore was more distressed than Harry had ever seen him.  “Remus,” he implored.

“You can trust Professor Dumbledore.  You know that, Harry.”

“I don’t,” Harry protested.  “Look at what he’s done to me over the last year!  He—”

“Let’s not get into that right now,” Dumbledore cut him off, prompting a look of concern from Lupin.

“Headmaster,” Lupin suggested, “Why don’t you explain to him your own reasons for trusting Professor Snape?”

Dumbledore sighed, apologetic.  “I’m afraid I can’t share those.”

“None of them?”

“No more than he’s already heard.  If that will not convince him, then there’s nothing else I can share with him.”

“Excuse me!” Harry interrupted.  “I’m right here.  And I can’t help but notice that you expect me to trust you while not trusting me.  If you actually have a good reason to trust Snape, I’ll promise to keep it to myself.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Harry,” the headmaster said wearily.  “Everything would be much easier if you did not carry this knowledge, especially with your mind exposed as it is to Voldemort’s probing.  Can you not just let this go?”

“I won’t let this go,” Harry threatened, promised.  “I won’t let you keep me in the dark forever—didn’t you just apologize for doing this yesterday?  I don’t think you meant it at all.”

“I did, Harry, I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” Harry said, and it was more factual than spiteful.  “And I won’t let this go.  I’ll find out on my own terms if I have to.  And maybe I’ll find that you’re mistaken about him.”

“You won’t,” Dumbledore insisted.

“Then convince me.”

Dumbledore looked imploringly at Lupin, who wore his conflict on his face.  “I have complete faith in you, Headmaster.  But I also understand Harry’s frustration.  If this is an issue of secrecy, he’s already offered to keep your secret.  If you feel you need to, you could swear him to secrecy.  If this is an issue of protecting Harry, well, he is fifteen, nearly an adult.  He is past the age when he needs protection from knowledge.  I feel you should tell him, and put his mind at ease.  End this animosity here—it’ll only be a distraction in the coming months, and that is one thing we do not need.”

Dumbledore stood from his desk and began pacing the room.  Harry noticed that several of his things had yet to be repaired from the episode last night.  “It is an issue of both, I’m afraid, and a few more matters besides.  And there is still the issue of Harry’s thoughts being open to the perusal of Lord Voldemort.”

“No,” Harry said.  “He’s not listening anymore.”

“What?  How do you know?”

“My scar hasn’t been hurting since the battle, not even a little.  I didn’t realize how constant it was until it was suddenly gone.  He’s shutting me out, and he’s doing it on purpose.  He knows now that I can spy on him too, and he doesn’t want that, so he’s keeping it closed.”  Harry crossed his arms over his chest in challenge.

Dumbledore examined the surface of his desk intently for a minute, letting the silence stretch.  It was so eerily silent with Dumbledore’s usual noisy trinkets lying in a broken heap.  When he at last looked up to meet Harry’s eyes, his were full of tremendous sorrow.

“All right.  Let me send for Severus.”

With great gravity, the headmaster silently conjured a brilliant silver phoenix that circle the room once, opening its beak in a silent, drawn-out cry before disappearing through the floor.

An expectant silence pervaded the room, and no one seemed particularly inclined to break it.  Harry marveled slightly that he was actually about to get a bit of straightforward explanation out of Dumbledore, and he vowed never to take Lupin and his levelheaded support for granted.

When Dumbledore flicked the door open to reveal the potions master, his usual glower was in place, and there wasn’t a hint of the day before anywhere about him.

“You summoned me, Headmaster?” he said, eyeing said headmaster’s guests with thinly concealed displeasure.

Rather than answer, Dumbledore waved the door close and rose from his desk to mutter incantations around the perimeter of the room.  Snape watched dispassionately as he completed his rounds and sat back at his desk.  “One more, I think,” Dumbledore said with an edge in his voice.  “ _Homenum revelio!_ ”

As the spell showed no presences other than the known occupants of the room, Dumbledore deliberately set down his wand on his desk.  “You’ve been careless,” he accused.

Snape’s face remained impassive.  “In what way?”

“You apparently had unannounced company last night.”  He glanced significantly over at Harry, and that finally brought a flicker of some unspecified emotion across the potions master’s face.

“Is that so?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“And what shall you do about it, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore sighed, deflating as his irritation left him.  “I think we may need to make an alteration to our plan.  Certain parties are unwilling to cooperate any further with us as long as our secrecy stands.”

That gave Snape pause.  “And you are going to let them hand you ultimatums?”

“I have little choice in the matter.  Harry will be instrumental in the coming war, and we cannot afford key allies pulling away from us now.”  Snape fixed Harry with an intense look that was hard to read.  “We must tell them.”

“That’s not sufficient permission, Headmaster.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“I give you explicit permission to disclose to Harry Potter and Remus Lupin the nature of your contract and how it came to be, no details barred.”  He bowed his head and waited.

Snape was now visibly agitated.  “I…one more thing, please,” he said, and the unconcealed plea in his voice surprised Harry nearly as much as his outburst had yesterday.  Dumbledore did not raise his head.  “I’d do this wearing my own face, please.”

His own face?  Harry looked at him sharply, wondering suddenly just how great a magnitude this secret had.

“So be it,” the old wizard murmured into his beard.

Snape tapped his side with his wand and nodded to himself.  “About twenty minutes then.”  He looked over to where Harry and Lupin were still standing.  “You may want to have a seat.  This’ll take a while.”  They took the two chairs opposite Dumbledore’s desk and Snape conjured one for himself.  His eyes were fixed hard on Harry as he began to speak.

“You're right, in a way, to distrust me, Harry.  Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater, and he was a Death Eater until the day he died.  That day was the second of February, 1980.  He attacked me; I killed him.  There were no witnesses, and that was important.

“I was a member of the Order—still am, actually—so I immediately brought the news to Dumbledore.  And he came up with a plot that he thought was very clever.  We had his body, and not a soul besides ourselves knew of his death, so I could take Polyjuice Potion and assume Snape’s identity to spy on Voldemort’s forces.  I had known Snape before—we had been at Hogwarts at the same time—so I knew his mannerisms well enough to play off as him.  I agreed, and I came to regret it, but that’s getting ahead of the story.

“Dumbledore set some very strict rules for his spies.  It was a necessity that I fully understood.  He swore me to secrecy with the Unbreakable Vow, with the condition that I could give no indication to anyone that I was not Severus Snape without his explicit permission.  Here’s where it’s really a shame that I knew the bastard: I had to act as I sincerely believed Snape would act in every situation where there were witnesses, no matter how much of an arse it made me.  I have so many apologies I wish I could make to students.  I’m glad that I at least have the chance to tell you how very sorry I am for tormenting you through the last five years.”

Harry stared at him, struggling to wrap his head around what he’d just heard.  “But who are you then?”

Not-Snape sighed.  “We’re getting to that.  So when I became Snape, I also disappeared from my old life.  Obviously, this would look suspicious and possibly jeopardize our secret.  So we had two options: either make it look like I died, or make it look like I was still around.  We—my wife and I—chose the latter option, and she was the only one who knew about my mission.”  He asked Lupin, “Do you remember Benjy?”

“Benjy Fenwick?” Lupin asked.  “We’d thought you’d died!”  He rose half out of his chair, but Not-Snape held up a hand to halt him.

“Benjy did die, but not when and how you thought.  He was a good, solid bloke, and he had no family, so Dumbledore figured he’d be our best bet for a fake death.  The story was that he got blasted to pieces—easy enough to fake.  He assumed my identity and went to live with and guard my wife in my stead.  He was killed a little over a year later.  Poor Benjy.”

“Poor Benjy,” Lupin echoed.

“When he died, everyone assumed it was really me who’d died.  It didn’t hurt our mission, but that was around the time the First Wizarding War ended, so it didn’t matter.  I thought with Voldemort gone, Dumbledore would release me from my secrecy.  He did not.  He’s unspeakably cruel,” he said solemnly, and Harry noticed that Dumbledore’s head was still bowed.  “It’s almost difficult to comprehend how cruel.  He kept me, his pet agent incapable of disobeying him, in case he’d need me in the future.  My friends and family have believed I’m dead for fourteen years.  He’s forced me into a position where my Vow compels me to be cruel to children every day.  I don’t know how he lives with himself.”

Dumbledore didn’t move, didn’t answer.

“I don’t know why you would have been in my office yesterday, Harry, but I assume you saw the breakdown I had.  Sirius was a friend of mine back then.  He was a good man.  I—” He looked down, collecting himself.  “Speaking of Dumbledore’s sins, he knew Sirius was innocent the whole time he was in Azkaban.”

“WHAT?”  Lupin leapt to his feet, glaring down at the headmaster, who still had not moved.  “Is that true?”

Dumbledore still did not look up.  “What you have to understand, Remus—”

“IS IT TRUE?”

Dumbledore said nothing.  He said nothing for too long.

“How could you?  _Twelve years!_   He rotted in that godforsaken place for _twelve years and you knew._ ”

“I had no proof,” Dumbledore said tiredly.  “The evidence against him was so overwhelming they didn’t even bother with a trial.  The Ministry had a field day turning him into a scapegoat.  It wasn’t a winning battle.”

For the first time, Harry saw Lupin look truly murderous, and it was one of the most terrifying sights he’d ever beheld, moreso even than his lupine counterpart.

“You let me believe he was a murderer and a traitor.  You let the whole Order believe it.  Why?”

“We would have wanted to fight the battle,” Not-Snape said, disgusted.  “And it was a losing battle.  On Dumbledore’s chessboard, Sirius was only ever a pawn, which he’s ever willing to sacrifice for the cause.”

“You didn’t know either?”

Not-Snape shook his head.  “Do you remember how ready I was to kill him in the Shrieking Shack?  I still thought he was the traitor.  May he rest in peace.”

With a jolt, Harry recalled something.  “But you show up as Snape on the Map!”  He exchanged a glance with Lupin.  “The Map never lies, right?”

“Right,” Lupin echoed.

“Do you know what I’m talking about?” Harry asked Not-Snape.

He nodded.  “I’m familiar with the Map, enough so to trick it.  It was quite the challenge though; whoever made it was a real genius.”  He smiled at Lupin, and it looked horridly strange on Snape’s face.

“But how would you have—” Lupin began, but then his eyes widened in a terrible realization, and he stared slack-jawed at the other man, who’s skin had at that moment begun to bubble with a Polyjuice transfiguration.

“This’ll be the first time in years,” Not-Snape commented, watching his hands begin to change shape.  “Auto-Polyjuice dispenser under the skin, can’t deactivate it without Dumbledore’s permission.  It’s a real pain being this ugly bastard all the time.”

Harry watched as the hated figure of his potions master transformed into one he had only seen in photographs, and he sat paralyzed in shock and disbelief as James Potter stood before them in ill-fitting, potion-stained robes.


	2. A Tremendous Secret

Several things happened at once.

A gasp went up from the crowd of portraits on the wall, the old headmasters and headmistresses aghast.  The present headmaster hid his face in his hands, as if the barrier would somehow soften this truth.  Remus Lupin sat down as though his legs had been knocked from under him.  Harry Potter’s vision went blurry around the edges.

“I…have been dreaming about this day for a very long time,” James said into the silence, regarding Harry with the caution one might give a cornered animal.  “And I’m unspeakably sorry that it couldn’t have come sooner.  It was out of my control.”

“Why,” Lupin croaked, “would you make a Vow like that?”

James didn’t look away from Harry, who stared wordlessly back as though transfixed.  “You remember how it was in those days—we were at war.  I trusted Dumbledore just like you did, and we’d have never imagined he’d do somethine like this.  I’m so sorry.  Harry, please believe me; I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you were growing up.  It killed me—it still does—to see the way you’ve been neglected and endangered and mistreated.  And it was my fault for being so naïve as to put my trust in someone absolutely, for being blind to his manipulation and win-at-all-costs strategy.  For gambling away my chance to be your dad on my mistaken beliefs about the right way to fight a war.  I’d understand if you’re very angry with me right now, and I—”

“Stop.”  James’ mouth snapped shut.  “Please,” Harry added weakly.

No one ventured to comment on the tears streaking down his face, but all eyes—men and portraits alike, minus Dumbledore—were watching him with an array of emotions from anticipation to pity to horror.

“Just, please, give me a moment.”  Harry closed his eyes to avoid all the stares.  Was there any way this could be false?  If he dared to believe, and this later proved to be a deception, he’d…well, he didn’t know how he would cope with that, the re-loss of his father— _his father!_ —so soon after the devastating loss of his godfather.

Harry ran through his story again, and it seemed as though it _could_ be true, but not as though it _must_ be true.  Except…

“A year ago, in the graveyard,” Harry began, and he was surprised at the steadiness of his voice.  “When our wands connected, I saw my parents emerge from Voldemort’s wand.  How, if you’re not dead?”

James considered it.  “I’m not well-versed in this particular piece of magic, but I would guess the man you saw with your mother was Benjy Fenwick, and you either didn’t notice his appearance in the heat of the moment or he still looked like me because he had looked like me when he died.”

That made some sense, but…

“Two days ago, in Umbridge’s office?”

“Of course, I told Dumbledore immediately,” James assured him.  “Can you believe that now?”

Harry hesitated but eventually nodded.  The episode in the potions master’s office looked too real to doubt.  “I can—I do.  But all this is…”

“A lot to process?”

“Yeah.”  Harry reexamined his shoes, still not quite ready to believe.

Lupin cut in with the question, “If you are James, then what did I say to you on the morning you told me you started dating Lily?”

James’ brow furrowed.  “I’m pretty sure it was nighttime when I told you that.  We were writing Herbology essays in the library, and…hmm…I don’t remember the conversation leading up to it, but you said that I was better at Herbology than you were, and I said that I was really only an expert on lilies, in fact, I was dating one, and you said that lilies need lots of sunshine to thrive, but they do okay without fertilizer, so I should stay off my bullshit and be a bit nicer if I wanted a chance with her.  It was good advice,” he admitted, smiling sadly.

Lupin nodded.  He seemed to waver on the edge of saying something, but something suddenly occurred to Harry.

“But wait!  I saw Snape’s memory in the Pensieve.  How did you get it?”

“Did you?” James asked gently.  “Snape was present for all that you saw, yes, but so was I.  How would you know which perspective the original memory was from?”

Harry ran through the memory again, but was unable to recall any evidence that the memory couldn’t have belonged to James, or really anyone else who had been there that day.  “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.  But you were so close to finding out that day, which is why I had to stop your Occlumency lessons so suddenly.”

“Do you believe this?” Harry asked Lupin, who still stared at James and appeared to waver between stricken and angry.

Lupin startled, his eyes snapping over to meet Harry’s.  “I don’t know what to think, Harry.  I…I…yes.  I do believe he’s telling the truth, that you can now believe the evidence of your eyes, but…I don’t know what to think.  How this could be allowed to happen…” Lupin trailed off, seeming to deflate a bit.

He looked back to where his supposed father still watched him with an expectant sort of patience.  “And you, Harry?  Do you believe me?”

Harry looked between the familiar face he had only seen in photographs, the Pensieve, and the Mirror of Erised, and the still-as-stone headmaster behind his desk, who had corroborated this tale.  And Harry nodded.

He did believe it.  Somewhere beneath all the shock, beneath the rage at the headmaster, beneath the emotional exhaustion of the last few days, Harry knew that the man sitting across from him was his father.  James’ hand trembled as he reached out to place it over Harry’s own.  Harry noted they were about the same size.  How jarring it must have been, Harry thought absently, for his father, who by the story he told—leaving his wife in February of 1980, which would have been five months before Harry was born—he may have only had the chance to hold Harry once or twice, if his position gave him the chance at all.

“What do we do now?” Harry wondered aloud.

“Well,” James said, “I have to continue being Snape, as I’m still bound by my Vow.  Voldemort is back now, and he’s not hiding anymore, so I’m needed now more than ever.  You can’t let this secret get out, Harry.  It could mean not only my death if I’m found out, but the loss of the only spy to have Voldemort’s trust, which could seriously hurt our side’s chances in the war.  Do you understand?”

Harry nodded.

“Good.  Then you also understand you can’t tell anyone about this, not Weasley or Granger or even McGonagall.”  Harry balked at keeping such a tremendous secret from Ron and Hermione, and his disappointment must have shown on his face because James continued, “I’m sorry.  The secret must stop with you.  The more people that know, the more vulnerable my secret and my life.”

Lupin added, “You must remember, Harry, that our minds can betray what our words never would.  Your friends, however loyal, are not Occlumens.  Surely you understand the problem that poses.”  Harry nodded.  “It is imperative that you master Occlumency now.  Even if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has closed off his mind from yours, there is no guarantee that is a permanent decision, and he is not the only Legilimens.”

“You will keep my secret, Harry?”

Harry frowned, but there was only one reasonable answer. “I will, I promise.”

Satisfied, James turned to Lupin.  “Remus, I am so sorry for the grief I’ve caused you, and I’m sorry for the burden I’m about to ask you to take on.  Can I count on you, my old friend?”

“Of course,” Lupin answered immediately.

“In my—well, Harry’s—Gringotts vault is a copy of mine and Lily’s will.  Dumbledore chose to ignore it after it was thought we both died.  I know his reasons, and they are miserably inadequate.  We had specified that under no circumstances was Harry to be put in the custody of Lily’s family, that if we died Sirius should care for him.  You were also listed as a potential caregiver.  I want you to go with Harry to get our will, and I want you to contest Dumbledore’s decision with the courts.”

“So you want me to adopt him?” Lupin clarified.

James nodded.  “Just officially.  I never want you to have to go back to those Muggles, Harry.  I know how awfully they’ve treated you, and I don’t share Dumbledore’s willingness to leave a child in an abusive home, no matter his reasoning.  There’s no justifying that.”

Lupin asked Harry, “How do you feel about this?”

Harry couldn’t help but recollect the scent of sawdust that hung in the cupboard under the stairs that he had slept in for a decade.  He remembered the bars on his window and so many occasions of hunger that he had trouble distinguishing them from one another.  He remembered entire days when he spoke to no one, days he was too sick to leave his cupboard and no one noticed or cared.  He felt an echo of the fear that had wrapped like a vise around his chest as he sprinted away from Dudley and his posse, intent on inflicting some unknown unpleasantness on him.

“I never want to go back.”

Lupin nodded, his mind made up.  “It’s top priority, then.  I’ll write your aunt and uncle and inform them of the change in arrangements, and I’ll see what I can do about finding a good lawyer.”

“Thank you, Moony.  I owe you big for this.”

Lupin waved the suggestion off as though it weren’t worthy of a reply.

“Will I be able to see you over the summer?” Harry asked his father, glancing at Dumbledore.  “Will you be allowed to talk to me?”

James nodded.  “I think so, Harry.  After all, it’s more important now than ever that you master Occlumency.  I could very well resume teaching you, now that the danger of you seeing into my mind has passed.”  Dumbledore nodded once, either agreement or resignation.  “We can start immediately, if you like, since exams are over and I’m no longer needed as the potions master.”

“I’d like that,” Harry said.

It was at that point that Dumbledore decided to rise from his desk.  Three sets of hard eyes watched him, but if he felt intimidated, he didn’t show it.

“Breakfast will be commencing in a few minutes.  I have an announcement I need to make to the students.  You should make an appearance, Severus, lest your absence be remarked upon.”

James scowled at the misnomer.  Rather than address the headmaster, he said to Harry, “Have you eaten anything since yesterday?  You should go to breakfast too.  But remember, whenever we’re not alone in a warded room, I am Snape to you, and we’ll both act like it.  It’ll be terrible, but that’s how it needs to be.  Yes, I’ll still give you detention you don’t deserve, and yes, I’ll still be horridly unfair when awarding and removing house points.  You must give no sign that you think any higher of me now than you thought of Severus Snape.”

Harry had no intention of going to breakfast and having to speak to his peers, but he nodded anyway.

“Remus.” He clapped Lupin on the shoulder.  “I can never begin to thank you, really.  I’ll be in touch, I promise.”  Lupin dragged him into a hug, and James made a noise that sounded like a gasp.

After it went on a few seconds too long, Dumbledore cleared his throat.  “We shouldn’t be late today.”

James reluctantly let go of Lupin, and he tapped his wand again to his side.  Harry watched with a feeling of helplessness as the Polyjuice took its effect.

Dumbledore dispelled some of the wards he’d casted on the room, and he said serenely, “I should hope that has cleared up your concerns, Harry.  Remus, it’s been a pleasure.  Now, I do believe it is time for breakfast.”

Professor Snape swept out of the headmaster’s office without a word or a glance back.


	3. A Midnight Meeting

Harry did not go to breakfast. Instead, he returned immediately to the Hospital Wing.

Ginny had left her bed and was now sitting cross-legged on Neville’s. He looked up when Harry walked in, and Ginny’s head whipped around.

“So what was that about?” she demanded in a whisper so as not to wake Ron and Hermione.

Harry shook his head. “Where’s Luna?”

“She left half an hour ago with a clean bill of health. She needed to check on her Puffskeins and send a letter to her dad. Seriously though, where did you run off to?”

“Erm, sorry. It turned out to be nothing. Leftover nerves from yesterday.”

Neville nodded in sympathy, and he pulled his legs up to his chest so Harry could take the space on the bed beside Ginny. “What’s happening out there, Harry?”

“Front page of the _Daily Prophet_. ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned.’” He shook his head. “Everyone’s _shocked_ and terrified. Dumbledore’s giving a speech over breakfast right now. I didn’t need to hear it. You know what he’ll say.”

“That we need to look past our differences and all come together to bring light and hope to these dark times,” Ginny supplied. “Or something to that effect.”

“But what’s going to happen now?” Neville asked.

“That’s a good question.” Ginny looked to Harry for an answer.

Harry frowned. Next, he was going to take Occlumency lessons with his father— _his father!!_ —and get away from the Dursleys for forever, but he didn’t know what the rest of the Order was going to do. “We’re going to fight, like we did last time. But first, we’re going to hold a funeral.”

Their faces went from uncertain to grim. “Your friends are with you, Harry,” was all that Neville said.

Ginny nodded, and her hand came to rest on his shoulder. “We’ve got your back.”

“Thanks.” He nodded to their sleeping friends. “Any news?”

“Madam Pomfrey came out and checked on Hermione a little while ago. ‘As well as we can hope, dear’ is what she said when I asked. And that Ron’s fine. I’m pretty sure he’s just asleep now—he’s always slept like a bump on a log.”

“Yeah, I’m a little surprised he’s not snoring,” Neville added.

“Rude,” Ron mumbled.

Ginny smirked. “Called it.”

“Hey, Ron,” Neville said, and Ron blearily opened his eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Bloody awful. You?”

“I’m alright.”

“So who’s going to tell me what— _wait_. _Where’s Hermione?_ ”

Harry nodded to the next bed over, where Hermione was still and pale beneath her golden cage of light. Ron jerked upright.

“What happened? Is she alright? Is—”

“Mr. Weasley!” Madam Pomfrey descended on Ron to stop him from trying to stand, and it was a testament either to his injury or his exhaustion that she succeeded so effortlessly. “You will not be getting out of bed yet; I doubt you can stand. I assure you that there is nothing you can do to improve Miss Granger’s condition beyond what the Healers are doing already.”

“What’s wrong with her? Is she going to be okay?” he demanded as he was forcefully tucked into bed.

“I expect she’ll recover. I’ve seen people survive worse curses. But she’s quite lucky to be alive, not unlike yourself.”

Ron swallowed hard. “What happened?”

“Dolohov cursed her,” Harry said. “You were attacked by brains.”

“Brains? I don’t remember that at all.” He examined the welts on his arms and winced. “Did he survive? Dolohov?”

“I think so. Dumbledore rounded up all the Death Eaters, except…” Harry trailed off.

Neville shifted on the bed. “Bellatrix Lestrange got away. You-Know-Who came and he took her when he left.” For all the steel in his voice, he seemed to shrink into himself.

Harry had to make himself talk, because Ron didn’t know. Ron should know. “Sirius is dead,” he said. And burst into tears.

It surprised him, crashing into Harry like a tsunami in the middle of a desert. Tears blurred the room to indistinct shapes and colors as sobs tore violently from his chest. He wasn’t entirely certain what was being said to him, but someone, probably Ginny, had put an arm around his shoulders and someone else—Madam Pomfrey?—eventually pressed a mug of warm liquid into his hands and coaxed him to drink it. He almost choked on it, but it tasted like magic and Harry knew it had something in it. Calming Draught seemed likely, as his breathing gradually evened out and his heartbeat slowed to a less frantic pace. He squeezed his eyes shut and took another sip. Ginny still had her arm around him, and he lowered his head to rest on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, mate,” Ron whispered.

“There’s no body,” he said dully. “We still need to have a funeral.”

“Of course.” Harry opened his eyes in surprise to see that Madam Pomfrey was still hovering nearby. “I imagine there will be more than one. That’s what we used to do. One for the public, to honor a fallen hero, and one for his friends and family.” At his confused expression, she added gently, “You may want to take a closer look at today’s _Prophet_. I have a copy in my office, if you’d like.”

On page 5, past the hysteria on Voldemort, a bolded headline: **BLACK VINDICATED**

Sirius screamed wordlessly from his mugshot, and Harry folded the paper over to hide it as he read.

 

_After the explosive battle at Ministry Headquarters (see page 1), Wizarding Britain received several shocks. The foremost was the positive identification of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge after a year of denying credible claims that the Dark wizard was alive. Among the twelve Death Eaters apprehended at the scene were Lucius Malfoy of the Hogwarts Board of Governors (see page 3) and Ministry employee Walden Macnair._

_Conspicuously absent was fugitive Sirius Black, who for the last 14 years was believed to be in the inner circle of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Black became the first person to escape Azkaban prison in 1993, 12 years after he was imprisoned for the murders of Peter Pettigrew and over a dozen Muggle witnesses. However, sources at the scene last night confirmed that Black was in fact there—but he fought_ against _the Death Eaters._

_An Auror and combatant in last night’s battle, speaking on condition of anonymity, confirmed that he had worked with Black for the last year as part of an effort to counter the forces of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He also asserted that Black was innocent of the charges that had landed him in Azkaban, and that Peter Pettigrew is still alive and a spy for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_Black’s alleged mass murder was witnessed by several Muggle bystanders, whose accounts left little doubt that Black was both guilty and deranged. Interestingly, Ministry records indicate that Black was sentenced to life in Azkaban without a formal trial, a major breach in DMLE protocol._

_Unfortunately, Black will never have his day in court. He was the only person to die in last night’s battle. Four witnesses, including Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, have confirmed his death. All four witnesses corroborate that Black was fighting on their side as part of an ongoing alliance against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and repeated the previous source’s claim that Black was innocent of the murders attributed to him._

_At press time, the Ministry has not released an official statement other than that on page 2 confirming the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. A miscarriage of justice of this magnitude will certainly provoke demands for Ministry accountability—will there be an investigation into the handling of Black’s case? Regardless, it is likely that posthumous exoneration of Sirius Black will be forthcoming in the following days, in addition to a formal apology and possible financial reparations to be awarded to his next of kin_.

 

Harry rubbed at his eyes and passed the paper to Neville, who immediately flipped to the main story. “Any apology the Ministry tries to make is too late. It doesn’t help him now.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Ginny murmured. “But he was a good person, and I’m glad that he won’t be remembered as a murderer.”

Harry nodded, although it was bitter consolation. “The people who still believed he was a murderer weren’t the people who mattered. I knew. Lupin knew. The Order knew. Who else’s opinion would’ve mattered to him?”

Ginny patted his shoulder, obviously deciding not to argue the point. She kept her arm around his shoulders all throughout the public memorial service in Sirius’ honor four days later. He cried on her shoulder while Andromeda Tonks gave a eulogy for her cousin and called him “the bravest man I ever knew.” She and Ron sat with him, sometimes in the Hospital Wing where Hermione was still recovering, sometimes in their dormitory, as he struggled to put his own thoughts onto paper.

Despite the lack of a body to bury, Sirius would be given a headstone in the cemetery at Godric’s Hollow. This burial was not open to the public, but only to the members of the Order and those who had been close friends. Harry couldn’t let the day pass without saying his piece in honor of his godfather, but he struggled to find the words.

Long after Ron had fallen asleep and Ginny had left for her own bed, Harry lay awake and agitated. He wrestled with himself in the darkness for nearly an hour before slipping out of bed and leaving under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak and with the Marauder’s Map in hand.

The castle was emptier than usual. With exams over, the Hogwarts Express would depart for King’s Cross at the end of the week. With the news of Voldemort’s return, many parents had been unwilling to wait that long to retrieve their children. It was easy to spot the little dot labelled Severus Snape where he was apparently pacing in his office in the dungeons. Harry was surprised that he was still awake, seeing as it was well past midnight.

He cleared the map and stowed it away before he knocked once on the door. Snape opened it, looked around suspiciously, and drew his wand.

“Yes?” he drawled to the apparently empty corridor. When no one appeared, he retreated into his office and shut the door.

Inside, several warding spells were cast in close succession, and when they were complete, he asked hopefully, “Harry?”

“I’m here,” he said, pulling the Cloak off. The resultant smile was downright unsettling on Snape’s features, and Harry had to look away.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Harry confessed, his eyes on his Cloak as he draped it over the back of a chair.

“Me neither.” He collapsed into one of the chairs in front of the desk and motioned for Harry to take the other. “What’s keeping you awake?”

“A few things. I’m worried about Hermione, for one.”

“How is she doing? I haven’t had a good excuse to check.”

“She’s woken up a couple times, which is a good sign, but she hasn’t said anything yet. The Healer I spoke to yesterday said that she’s out of danger but that they’ll need a few more days to draw out the last traces of the curse. They don’t know if she’ll have any permanent spell damage.”

He nodded seriously, and Harry was struck by the sheer unthinkableness of the moment, sitting here in the middle of the night pouring out his worries to _Snape_ , who wasn’t really Snape while at the same time being the only Snape that Harry had ever encountered. Snape, who was right now offering him a reassuring smile. “I understand your worry, Harry, but Hermione’s the strongest witch I’ve ever encountered. When I tell you that I think she’s going to be fine, it’s my professional opinion and not just wishful thinking. Does that ease your worry at all?”

Harry nodded.

“You have excellent choice in friends, by the way. That’s something I’ve wanted to tell you ever since she covered for you and Ron with the mountain troll. Hell, she set me _on fire!_ If you weren’t here, she’d be my all-time favorite student. Although the Weasley twins do give her some good competition.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “I’m lucky.”

“Just as lucky as they are to have you. Be sure you keep your friends close,” he advised. “What else is on your mind?”

Harry’s smile faded. “The funeral is tomorrow. I’ve been thinking about my eulogy, but I’m frustrated. The words just won’t come. How do I even—what do I say? Nothing I write down seems like it’s enough, and Sirius deserves so much better than a disappointing eulogy.” Harry examined his shoes. “He meant a lot to me. That’s all I can say, but it’s not enough.”

His father didn’t immediately answer, but stood to grab a folded parchment off his desk.

“Here’s mine. I have the opposite problem: so much to say and no chance to say it. I was going to burn it, but maybe it’ll help you find what you want to say. Just be sure it gets destroyed after you’ve finished with it—secrecy before sentiment here.” Harry took it but didn’t unfold it; it felt like it would be far too invasive to read it in front of the man, like feeling around inside an open wound.

“Thank you,” he said instead, trying to see past the face he hated. “Will you be there tomorrow?”

“Yes and no.” He dragged a hand over his hated face. “I’m a member of the Order, so I’m expected to show up, but I won’t be there to mourn. I’ll be there as Snape, and Snape would come to Sirius’ funeral to gloat to himself and make a snide remark that just barely slips under the bar for ‘too far.’ I’m sorry in advance if it ends up directed at you.”

Harry frowned. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I know you don’t have a choice.”

“It makes it a little easier for me to sleep if I do apologize. I know that my secret good intentions don’t do anything to lessen the suffering I cause.”

“Still, it feels wrong that you feel like you have to apologize for something you have no control over,” Harry insisted.

“Hmm. Listen to me, Harry. I think this is going to be my first ever Dad-lesson, just fifteen years into the game. Apologies aren’t for you to clear your conscience. They’re not for _you_ at all, but for the person you’ve hurt. You can hurt people while having good intentions, and you can hurt people even when you think you’re doing the right thing.

“I’ve hurt people. I’ve stood by and watched as the Dark Lord tortured and killed people. I’ve made students cry in my class, from fear, from embarrassment, from stress. Did you know that Neville Longbottom’s boggart turns into me? _Me!_ Over the four Death Eaters who tortured his parents into insanity. I need to do more than apologize; I need to make amends. But I can’t. I can’t bring people back to life or return the tears that I’ve caused. Even if I could, I wouldn’t be allowed to try. And that, Harry, is why I can’t sleep at night.”

Harry thought carefully before speaking. “I accept your apology. And I forgive you. And I promise that nothing you say or do to me as Snape will hurt me anymore now that I know it’s just an act. So you won’t have to make this apology again.”

Snape’s impassive mask had settled over his features again, and Harry got the sense that his promise hadn’t been believed. “I have so many other things I should apologize to you for. But it’s late, and you should be in bed. We’ll both need our strength for tomorrow.” He paused, brightening a little. “After that, I think we’ll have a chance to talk again in a few days. Remus has gotten a lawyer, who’s already filed with Gringotts for a reading of our will. You’ll have to sign a few papers, but as long as the Muggles don’t put up a fuss, he should officially be your legal guardian by the end of the week. I’ll be stopping by to deliver ingredients for his Wolfsbane potion on Saturday morning, and we can have our next Occlumency lesson then.”

“I can’t wait,” Harry said honestly, because maybe he’d be able to get advance permission from Dumbledore to go off of the Polyjuice for an hour or two when he was with Harry.

“I treasure every moment I get to spend with you.” And Harry couldn’t keep himself under control any longer—it was just too revolting to have _Snape_ speaking those words to him with such earnestness, too much to ask of his tired brain to shut down his kneejerk reaction—and he tensed up and leaned away. It did not go unnoticed.

“I’m sorry. That was too much too soon, wasn’t it? I’m so sorry. I know we’ve really only just met, you barely know me, and it’s not like I’ve ever been a real father to you, I haven’t even asked what you want—”

“No,” Harry cut him off. “Stop, please. It’s not you; it’s your face. It’s _Snape_. It’s not you, I promise.”

The silence stretched just far enough to be uncomfortable. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “Severus Snape died before you were born. The only ‘Snape’ you’ve ever known is me.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, but he knew that he should say something.

“You really should be getting to bed.” He stood, and Harry did the same.  “Put your Cloak on, and wait for me to open the door.” He started taking down the wards, and Harry knew his chance to say something had passed.


End file.
